


the art of saving face

by l0velikeoxygen



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Band Fic, Break Up, Complicated Relationships, M/M, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-02-20
Packaged: 2019-11-01 07:12:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17862749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l0velikeoxygen/pseuds/l0velikeoxygen
Summary: “Well, you don't actuallyhavea band,” Johnny says, softly. “Theoretically, if you actually knew a few decent musicians, you could pull it off.” For a second, Jaehyun’s interest is peaked. “But realistically, no. There's not a chance in the universe that you could. Even I, an optimist, don’t think it’s at all possible. Besides, it has to be an original song, and…” He bites his lip. “Look, Jaehyun, just make up an excuse. Say you've got diarrhoea. Your goldfish died and you had to go back to Korea for the funeral. You're a lying bastard and you don't want to have to face the consequences of lying to –”“Johnny,” Jaehyun says, cutting off his sentence quickly and purposefully. “I'm going to do it. I'm going to prove you wrong. I'm going to start a band, write a song, perform andwin, so I can rub it in Doyoung Kim’s face that Iamsuccessful and that he's totally wrong about me.”





	the art of saving face

**1**

The problem with Battle of the Bands is that – well, in all honesty, Jaehyun doesn't have a band. 

Not that _Doyoung_ knows that, of course. It's strange seeing him, especially nowadays – it's like looking straight into a portal of the past, the world twisting and shifting around him as they meet eyes. There's not much to say – especially on Jaehyun’s end – but Doyoung always did have a talent for talking.

“So, you're going to Battle of the Bands?” he asks. Jaehyun notices the smug tone in his voice – like he _knows_ – and Jaehyun will later say that the lies all began because of how eager Doyoung seemed to humiliate him in front of his friends. Taeil gives him a nervous glance as Jaehyun swallows, considers his words, then gives Doyoung the same shit-eating grin he uses for the people who piss him off the most.

“Sure,” Jaehyun answers, smiling brightly. “Why? Are you?”

“Mm, of course. But I'm not performing, if that's what you're asking,” Doyoung answers. His eyes are annoying. His spindly fingers tug at the buckle of his satchel as they continue to lock eyes. Jaehyun is never going outside again if it means that he'll never see Doyoung – he's an asshole, well and truly, but like everything else in Jaehyun’s life, he just required perspective to see how shitty he really was, is, and will continue to be.

Hindsight really is a bitch, huh?

“Why are _you_ going?” Jaehyun inquires. He doesn't care. He couldn't give a single shit about Doyoung Kim and his stupid satchel and his weird hair. “Obviously not to _perform_.”

“Supporting a friend,” he snaps. “You always wanted to be a musician. Maybe this will be your ‘big break’.” He emphasises his words by using finger quotations, but it's obvious he's not being genuine. Doyoung would completely wither if Jaehyun even _thought_ about succeeding. He's made that perfect clear – not that he ever thinks Jaehyun will _have_ a big break. 

Doyoung's right, though. Being a _musician_? Sure thing, Jaehyun Jung, if being a glorified busker is a _musician_. He's a good guitarist and an even better singer, but people don't care about that – he's good-looking, though, so what's the issue? Maybe it just goes to show that he's not as talented as he thinks he is, and he hardly thinks _that_. 

Jaehyun won't just admit defeat, though, and especially not to Doyoung. It's safe to say that they're mortal enemies. “I think so,” he responds. “In fact, I _know_ so.”

“Well, then. If you're so, so confident,” Doyoung remarks, “then it's unlikely you'll fail, right? Good luck, Jung.” He glances over Taeil and Johnny judgmentally, but says nothing as he walks off into distance, practically seething at the idea of Jaehyun coming anywhere close to fame, even _campus_ fame. It's not like Jaehyun goes to the university, but he's within the age bracket to go to all the same clubs and pubs that the students do, so there's a high chance of his band gaining the attention of people Doyoung knows.

That'd be fun, pissing _him_ off. He never wanted Jaehyun to be happy and successful – that'd hurt his ego too much, of course. It was all about him, with his fancy Paramedic Science degree and his new friends and his polished shoes. He has ambitions, as does Jaehyun, but asshole rich kids are all the same – they would walk on the backs of everybody else to climb their way up to the top. Doyoung is the same, only a little more obvious about his shitty intentions. It's a wonder anybody likes him at all, apart from his snide older brother and his even snider parents. 

But Jaehyun can't piss him off, can he? There's no band to compete, is there? Taeil is a singer, which is a start, but he's got stage fright (note: Year 3’s Christmas assembly, when Taeil got too scared to play the donkey in the nativity scene and ran off stage crying – it's surprising that he ever recovered from the trauma) and Johnny is...Well, Johnny. He's got sex appeal, definitely, but…

“You don't have a band,” Taeil whispers, softly, when Doyoung is noticeably out of earshot. “Jaehyun. You lied.”

“Yes, obviously,” Jaehyun hisses back. Johnny lays a sympathetic hand on his back, patting softly. “I need a band. Shit. Do you know anybody…?”

“That'd be willing to join a band and create such an amazing song that you'd win and make Doyoung rip his ears off out of anger?” Johnny jokes. Jaehyun looks up at him hopefully. “No, sorry.”

“Short notice? When is it?” Jaehyun asks.

“In two weeks,” Taeil mumbles.

Jaehyun’s eyes widen. Taeil doesn't tease like that, so there's no dismissing it as a playful joke, but two weeks? “Why didn't you tell me?”

“Well, you don't actually _have_ a band,” Johnny says, softly. “Theoretically, if you actually knew a few decent musicians, you could pull it off.” For a second, Jaehyun’s interest is peaked. “But realistically, no. There's not a chance in the universe that you could. Even I, an optimist, don’t think it’s at all possible. Besides, it has to be an original song, and…” He bites his lip. “Look, Jaehyun, just make up an excuse. Say you've got diarrhoea. Your goldfish died and you had to go back to Korea for the funeral. You're a lying bastard and you don't want to have to face the consequences of lying to –” 

“Johnny,” Jaehyun says, cutting off his sentence quickly and purposefully. “I'm going to do it. I'm going to prove you wrong. I'm going to start a band, write a song, perform and _win_ , so I can rub it in Doyoung Kim’s face that I _am_ successful and that he's totally wrong about me.” He stands up quickly, noticing the grass stains on his knees. “You're either with me or you're against me.”

“This isn't a movie,” Taeil says. “I have an assignment due.”

“Same,” Johnny agrees.

“Right. Well, um,” Jaehyun hums. “Can you at least, like, post an advertisement on your Facebook wall?”

They both sigh, torn between letting him down gently or humouring this ridiculous challenge. It can't be done. Jaehyun is determined and talented, but still – nobody is _that_ good. Even if Doyoung was wrong about him, this is still a stupidly hard feat. It's impossible, essentially, and even if Jaehyun was to find people willing to be in a band, the chances of them ever being _good_ are extremely slim.

“Okay,” Johnny agrees. Taeil nods, too. “You should have just gone to uni, Jae.”

“I'm not a capitalist shill. Do you know what university is, Johnny?” Jaehyun asks. “Admitting defeat.”

“We know damn well you're bad at that,” Taeil mutters. “I suppose maybe you actually need Doyoung's good luck.”

“I don't. It's cursed. _He_ is cursed. I hate him and I'm going to show him just how much I hate him by proving myself,” Jaehyun says. “Ah, fuck, I'm late for my shift! Bye!”

**2**

Okay, so Taeil isn't _completely_ useless. It's through his friends of friends of friends that Jaehyun figures out why Doyoung, somebody who used to seem almost angry at the idea of people living out their passions, would even be interested at all in going to Battle of the Bands. Funnily enough, it's not to watch Jaehyun suffer, or, for that matter, any of his other countless enemies either – it's for, as his Facebook reads, Taeyong Lee. Part time librarian, part time student, part time guitarist in _The Dead Legs_. 

Jaehyun won't question Doyoung’s taste _this_ once, though. Taeyong features in a lot of Doyoung's public photos, courtesy of some second-hand stalking Taeil did on behalf of Jaehyun, and he's just as cute as his apparent nickname _Yongie_ suggests – well, if that is his actually it, but the captions would argue in favour. He's practically angelic, and Jaehyun wonders how he's never seen him before – he lives in the nearby area, and there's no way he could miss Taeyong. He's got these wide eyes and pouty lips, a little like one of those glossy-eyed porcelain dolls, and is often seen in a bucket hat. He plays electric, too, which is sexy. It just sucks that in half of his photos, his arms are slung around Doyoung and his relationship status is visibly _Taken_ , so. The obvious must be assumed.

“He’s cute,” Taeil says, stating the obvious.

Taeil quickly switches the laptop screen from a group photo from Paris, featuring Taeyong and Doyoung quite close together, to a band page for _The Dead Legs_. On first glance, they're remarkably put-together for a local band, and Jaehyun swears he's seen the name on a pub sign or something. Their icon is a fairly professional looking photoshoot – Taeyong, along with two boys (one smiling like a primary schooler on photo day, the other moody and wearing eyeliner) and a girl to his left side. According to their bio, there are four members – Taeyong, lyricist and electric guitar; Ten, rhythm guitar; Mark, drums; and Seulgi, the singer and bassist. 

Okay, they're all good-looking (though the smiley one, Mark, is more cute, actually) and have a decent following on Facebook, but is their music any good? Probably not. All their fans are just smitten with Taeyong – right?

Jaehyun takes control of the laptop and clicks on a YouTube link without saying anything. There are a few dated videos (with the audio and video quality to match) but Jaehyun will give them a fair chance, so he clicks on the most recent one. It has just over ten thousand views, which is more recognition and attention than Jaehyun has _ever_ received. The closest he got to fame was when he played on the Barcelona Metro and got a decently cold bottle of water from a pretty boy with a great tan called Joshua. 

The song is called _Nobody's Business_ , and it's good. Like, _really_ good. You wouldn't think that they're some uni band, the stereotype of those being shitty instruments and meaningless lyrics about girls and cigarettes, because they're _good_. Maybe the microphone quality could be better – as with the camera quality, for that matter – but other than that, the lyrics are solid and the music sounds natural and effortless. Mark, the drummer, is probably the one that Jaehyun least expected to be as talented as he is – he's fast, sharp, and looks a lot cooler _while_ drumming. 

_Nobody's business who we are or what we do,  
Nobody's business who I am or who I screw._

“I hate it,” says Jaehyun. “God, no. I don't hate it. I really, _really_ like it. Fuck. They'll win. They'll definitely win.” 

Taeyong has to have some crippling character flaw. There's no way he'd find someone as cruel and calloused as Doyoung _likeable_ if he wasn't _also_ fucked up, right? Is he mean? He's not, and hot people are kind of mean sometimes. Is there something _actually_ wrong or is Jaehyun just finding an excuse to hate somebody for no reason?

“Jaehyun, don't beat yourself up over this,” Taeil sighs. “Please. You know, it's okay to not be brilliant all the time. Some people just – I don't know. Some people are great and they don't realise they're great until they're, like, forty. Monet started painting in his forties, right? So, just give it time, right?” He bites his lip. “This isn't about a band, though. This isn't even about _you_.”

“I don't want to talk about it,” Jaehyun says. 

“Good, because I'm not your therapist,” Taeil sighs. “Taeyong is really hot, isn't he?”

“You read my mind. What about Seulgi?” Jaehyun asks. “God, no. This feels – voyeuristic. Why should I care if Doyoung has a hot boyfriend? Does it affect _me_ if he's more talented? It's just – I have to do this. There's no way around it.” 

“Well, um,” Taeil says, softly. “Somebody did message me about the ad on my Instagram.”

“What? Really?” Jaehyun asks, excited. _This_ is it! He'd take anybody, honestly. “Wait, show me!”

“Jaehyun, I –” Taeil pauses.

“Why are you wasting time? It's not too late. I can probably meet them today,” Jaehyun gushes. “Taeil, give me your phone.”

“Jaehyun, I told him that it didn't matter anymore,” Taeil sighs. “I can't let you get your hopes up like this. Like Johnny said, it's not too late to back out – not like you were ever _signed up_ or whatever, right? Just...don't go, please. We've been through this a million times before, and – it never ends well, does it? Me and Johnny, we…”

“You're my _friends_. You're meant to support me,” Jaehyun snaps. “Gimme your phone. How long since you told him it didn't matter?”

“It was yesterday. He was a bit eager,” Taeil groans, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “God, I don't know why I'm doing this.”

“Because you _love_ me,” Jaehyun jokes, affectionately resting his head on Taeil’s shoulder as the elder hands him his phone. He clicks on the top message, from a user called @lucaaaswong, and reads Taeil’s disappointing message of dismissal. From the looks of it, Lucas was upset at the opportunity being snatched away from his hands.

 **@themoontaeil:** _hey, wondering if you're still up to join the band? change of plans!! here's my number ~ 07394264569 :))) hope i haven't scared u off 4ever!_

**3**

“So...You need me to learn a whole song in, uh, less than two weeks?” Lucas asks, scratching at his head. “And you don't actually _have_ a song yet? Or a band name?” He smiles awkwardly. “Am I right?” 

Jaehyun sighs. It's hard to be positive about the situation when things are – well, _that_ bad. God. If only he could lie about it all to make it seem easier, make it seem less impossible, but how could he do that? Lucas is helping him out (and isn't even asking to get _paid_ , other than a split of the prize money of the competition) and he wants to lie to him? God. Maybe he's just as much of an asshole as Doyoung is.

“Yes, essentially,” Jaehyun sighs. “But I'm working on the song, okay? And we only need one more person, and my friend Johnny is working on that as we speak, and I've got the lyrics nearly sorted, okay?”

“So...Is this a complete disaster or not?”

Even with the most positive spin Jaehyun can put on the situation, he replies honestly, “Yes, it's a complete disaster. But I've signed us up, now.”

“Huh? We don't even have a band name, do we?”

“Yes, we do,” Jaehyun says. “Okay, look. I needed to put something down and the first two names that came to my head were _DVD Pancake_ or _Saving Face_ , so it was kind of an obvious choice between the two.”

“Well, that's not so bad! I really like _DVD Pancake_ ,” Lucas exclaims, cheerfully. 

“...I chose _Saving Face_.”

“Oh, right. Obviously. I was kidding. Still, I like that too,” Lucas agrees, softly. He stares at his drumsticks. He's sweet, really, and Jaehyun can't fault him in any way; he's just eager to be in a band, no matter the pressing circumstances, and for that, Jaehyun congratulates his unfounded ignorance. This isn't fun. Jaehyun has done this before, and it _never_ works. It's why he didn't want to ask Vernon if he wanted to join – he can play, but they're not a good combo of people. Too much weed. Too much enthusiasm. Too much –

“It's fine. So, do you want to hear the song?” Jaehyun asks. He pulls out a crumpled piece of notebook paper from his pocket and begins to read, slowly but surely. “It starts with ‘ _I hate your face, and I hope that's clear_ ’.”

“Oh. Poignant. Is it about anybody in particular? I don't want to be _mean_.” Right. Of course. He's the sweetest person ever and wouldn't hurt a fly. Great.

“No, of course not.” Doyoung. Dongyoung Kim. It's about _Doyoung_! “Anyway, the next line is, ‘ _When I see you, I hate you, though it's been years_.’ Are you following? Okay, next line. ‘ _I've never wanted anybody dead, but I'd make an exception_ ’.” He smiles brightly. “This one’s a bit iffy, but, ‘ _Was the devil summoned during your conception_?’.”

“Rhyme feels a bit forced there, actually,” Lucas comments. Jaehyun pulls out a pen from the other pocket and underlines those lines, balancing the pale on his knee as he makes a note to come back to them later. “Are you _sure_ this isn't about anybody in particular?”

Jaehyun stares at the the WIP title, _Fuck you, Doyoung!!!_ , but says, “No. I don't hate anybody that much. Here, these are the next lines – ‘ _I hold my breath until my skins turn blue; I'd rather shoot myself than fucking be with you_.’ Okay, then. Thoughts?”

“It's, um, interesting. Jaehyun – are you okay?”

Fine. Yes, he's fine. He's been perpetually _fine_ since he was fifteen, never sad enough for it to be clinical but never happy enough to be like everybody else. It's fine. Being mediocre never hurt anybody, right? Joshua, the boy from Barcelona, seemed to think that Jaehyun was some kind of deep, edgy musician with scars as deep as his eye bags and a traumatic past – and, at that point, maybe he was troubled. The only time Jaehyun has broken his practically eternal streak of being _fine_ is when _that_ happened. After that, he fled to Spain – for a month or two, of course. He couldn't look anybody in the eyes.

No. No, he's fine. Lucas doesn't need to think about him. This is about the _band_ , right? This is about _Saving Face_ , not how Jaehyun’s guts are tied in nervous knots and he's convinced that this is never going to work. 

“Yep. I'm doing great, actually, especially since you're here,” Jaehyun says, cheerfully. He slings his electric guitar across his shoulder and tempts some chords softly. “Let's work.”

Lucas nods. He throws his drumsticks in the air, his large hands spanned out, ready to catch them – rather dramatically, they fall to the ground with an melodramatic clutter. 

**4**

A band isn't a _band_ with only two members, but a band isn't a band without a _Yuta_. 

He's got something that nobody Jaehyun has ever met has, an intangible quality beyond words – you just can't describe him, not really. He smiles too much. He laughs too much. He plays the bass like a fucking maniac. He's probably fucked half the campus, most likely _Doyoung_ as well, but Jaehyun doesn't want to bring that up. It could make things awkward, though maybe Yuta has ascended the limitations of sexuality and is no longer grossed out by anything like that. 

_The Dead Legs_ don't have Yuta, do they? They have a good standard of music, a decent reputation, and great song lyrics that aren't directly malicious, but they don't have Yuta, a Japanese exchange student with purple streaks in his fringe and more bruises on his body than he has hairs on his head. He might not be the best bassist, and Jaehyun wouldn't hesitate to say to anybody else that Seulgi is clearly better, but he's passionate. Yes. That's the word. _Passionate_. 

He's weird, but in a nice, sexy way. The first time they meet in what Jaehyun would call a _band practice_ , he brings him a cup of soy coffee and a wholegrain muffin. It's nice. He's considerate. On a side note, Jaehyun _has_ seen his nudes.

What Jaehyun likes the most about Yuta is that he understands the situation, and _wants_ to win as much as Jaehyun does. In fact, maybe even more. He's got a complex, definitely, but whether it's because he's the youngest child or was starved of attention by his peers, Jaehyun isn't sure. What stands out is that he is desperate for victory – oh, and the prize money also. 

“I love your lyrics,” Yuta gushes. Jaehyun printed off the other two a copy, with the cruel drawings and notations removed (notably the original title), to review and present their ideas. “God. You're so _angry_ , I love it.”

“I'm not angry. What makes you think that?” Jaehyun asks, softly, while he tunes Yuta's guitar for him. He's not lazy, he just never does it right, annoying Jaehyun in the process – now, it's just easy for the younger to do it himself than allow Yuta to fuck it up. 

“Well, who did you write this about?”

“Nobody. Jeez. I'm not mean,” Jaehyun lies. Why do people keep quizzing him about it? He's lied once, he'll lie twice. Yuta raises an eyebrow at him. “It's just a story, isn't it? If every author was writing from personal experience, I'd be concerned about Bret Easton Ellis.”

“Huh?”

“He wrote _American Psycho_ ,” Jaehyun sighs. Jeez. They're all so culturally unaware. “What I'm trying to say is that sometimes, it's good to lie about yourself. Does that make sense?”

“I think you could have phrased it better, but yes. Still, though…” Yuta sighs. They're sat on the floor, so when Yuta leans back, his body slides down the wall slightly. “...I don't believe you, for some reason.”

“We don't know each other. Don't think too deeply about it,” Jaehyun laughs, awkwardly. He checks the tightness of strings individually, then hands the guitar back to Yuta. “You're strange. Are you a good judge of character?”

“Somewhat.”

“What do you reckon of me, then? Other than I'm angry, of course,” Jaehyun says, spitefully. 

“I don't know. You're trying too hard?” Yuta says. It's a bit passive aggressive, but the tension dies when Lucas stumbles into the room, smiling brightly. Yuta grips at his guitar strangely. “I like you, Jaehyun. But that goes without saying, I think.” 

It really does. Even though he's blunt, his body doesn't lie, and he wouldn't be here for no reason. He could join any band. He's talented enough, and he could snatch anybody's heart if he felt so inclined. In many ways, he reminds Jaehyun of Doyoung – though, obviously, without the burning hatred in his chest associated with his name.

“So we're going with this song, then?” Lucas checks. “It's growing on me, actually. Also, I forgot to tell you, I got you two invited to a party tonight!”

“Huh? Really?” Yuta asks, not quite believing but excited nonetheless. Yuta is the partying type, not Lucas, and Jaehyun isn't really a fan. They don't matter to him, but still. “Who's is it?”

“Oh, just my friend. He asked me if I could invite some of my friends to, like, increase the cool,” Lucas explains. The phrasing of that is a little embarrassing and awkward, but Lucas means well. “It's his eighteenth. D'you wanna come?”

Even though Jaehyun is only twenty, it still feels awkward. Yuta nods excitedly. “Sure thing, dude!” he answers. “Jae, you coming?”

Logically, he _can_ say no. Why would he not? He doesn't even _want_ to go, does he? “Okay. I will.” Jaehyun doesn't even want to drink. He just wants to win, and parties are a distraction. They have a week, and the song is still split into a million different parts that seem as though they'll never come together. What will alcohol do? “Thanks for the invite.”

**5**

The party was a mistake. Jaehyun should have trusted his gut instinct and missed it entirely, because this isn't the kind of party he expected – sure, there are balloons and cake, but no alcohol. He didn't want to drink, but it would make things go a little more easy socially. It isn't easy to get along with a load of seventeen-year-olds when you're not completely smashed – they're just as annoying, but Jaehyun has a very low tolerance for such annoyance when sober.

He won't say anything, though. Yuta seems to be having _plenty_ of fun, talking to somebody’s mum with his hand on her hip. By saying “a party tonight”, did Lucas mean a party in the late afternoon? It's not even _dark_ , and Jaehyun is hanging out on a long table eating cream cake off of a paper plate. It's a blessing that he _looks_ young, because it'd be even weirder otherwise. Is this what normal eighteen-year-olds do?

Oh, yes. The birthday boy in question – Mark Lee, formally known as _Mark_ , the drummer from _The Dead Legs_. Also known as Jaehyun’s enemy by association. Also known as the most needlessly nice person Jaehyun has ever met. Jaehyun didn't even bring a gift, and so handed him two £20 notes as a present – but he was still so happy, so bright-eyed in his appreciation.

“Thanks, dude! Are you friends with Lucas?” Mark asks. “You're in his band?”

“Uh,” Jaehyun mumbles. Damn. Lucas spread the word quickly – they've been a band for _four_ days. “Yes, I am.”

“Same!” Mark says, cheerfully. Before he can continue, he gets dragged away by a sharp-faced boy saying something about how _Jeno_ has brought a cat to the party (sorry, what?) and that he needs to _socialise_ with more than felines. “Sorry...What's your name?”

“Jae,” he says, softly. The other boy tugs him away quickly and the brooding silence is immediately replaced with another familiar face – but somebody else, somebody – not _better_ , but. Somebody completely different. 

“Sorry?” the person says. He must have caught the last of Jaehyun's words to Mark and assumed it was just something he didn't hear fully aimed towards him. It's strange. You can see somebody online and not quite appreciate the beauty before you – sometimes, faces that beautiful can be so fake, but not Taeyong. He's _real_. He looks like a simulation or a doll, but in a nice way. A _really_ nice way. God. Jaehyun needs more descriptors, but they don't exist in the plentitude and in the depth that Jaehyun requires to describe Taeyong.

“I – I, sorry,” says Jaehyun. “Hi. I'm Jae.”

Taeyong smiles. “I'm Taeyong,” he says. He stretches his hand out and shakes Jaehyun’s trembling hand. “Do you know Mark?”

“Uh, I'm Lucas’ friend,” Jaehyun explains, softly. “I didn't quite realise it would be a party like this. I'm not even that big of a party guy, but – I don't know. It's strange. I was going to leave, actually.”

“Don't be silly!” Taeyong giggles. “Mark looked at you like he wanted you to be here, so _I_ want you here.” Is he flirting? No. No, he can't be. That's ridiculous. He has a boyfriend, right? Besides, Taeyong is just _too_ good for him – talented, pretty, smiling like the sun itself. “Do you want a cigarette? Mum won't let me smoke inside, but we have a balcony upstairs.”

“This is your house?” Jaehyun asks, curiously.

“Yeah,” Taeyong laughs, softly. “Mark’s my brother, actually. So, cigarette?”

“Sure,” Jaehyun answers. They walk upstairs together in almost silence, the sound of soft music making the stairs vibrate a little as they walk through an upstairs landing. Taeyong opens a door to a room that looks perfectly clean, not a speck of dust or piece of stray clothing on the floor, and leads Jaehyun to a small, comfy balcony that looks over the pretty little suburb, cast in a bright sunset, colours bleeding across the red bricks and white roofs. 

Taeyong pulls two cigarettes out of his pocket, handing one to Jaehyun and keeping one for himself. He lights his own cigarette, and holds the stick between his teeth as he runs his slim fingers along Jaehyun’s cheekbone, steadying his face as he uses the other hand to light his cigarette. He didn't have to touch him, but he did. The worst part is, Jaehyun wants him to.

“It’ll get dark soon,” Taeyong says. “Hey. I feel like I know you. Is that weird?”

“Huh. Maybe you met me in a past life or something,” Jaehyun laughs. “I feel like I know you, too.” Still. He has an actual reason to know him – he's dating Jaehyun’s worst enemy. Taeyong should hate him. Taeyong, if he knew who he _really_ was, probably does hate him. 

“I'm glad to get out of that place. I love Mark, but his friends are seriously weird,” Taeyong giggles. Smoke slips from his lips. “The only who only talks to cats. The mean one. The loud one. The annoying one. I don't know, they're all just – nice in small doses, but not _really_ nice.” He toys with his earring gently. “I love Mark, man. He's such a good brother. All he wants to do is play music.”

“I think somebody mentioned about you being in a band?” Jaehyun mumbles, trying to be conspicuous but probably failing. “I'm in a band, too.”

“Ah, really? That's so cool!” exclaims Taeyong. “My band’s called _The Dead Legs_. If you give me your number, I can send you a link to our YouTube.” They exchange numbers like it isn't even a big thing, which throws Jaehyun off. “It's just Mark, Ten, Seulgi and I.”

“Ten? Cute name,” comments Jaehyun. He takes a drag of his cigarette.

Taeyong smiles. “He's from Thailand,” he answers. “How about you?”

“Oh, right. I was born in Korea, but I moved to America when I was about four-ish,” Jaehyun says. “But then I moved to England, and it's shit, but oh well.” He bites his lip. “I'm working at the moment. I was going to go to university, but I just – it's an midpoint between being too poor and too unmotivated. I want to be a musician. And I am, sort of.”

“Everyone's so inconsiderate. This world is so unforgiving, don't you think?” Taeyong comments. “The poor can't go to school, so they don't get good jobs, so they're poor, and so the cycle continues. I hate snobs who think that they're better than others because they got into Oxford or whatever. I go to Goldsmiths, but I hate it and it makes me want to rip my eyes out.” He smiles softly. “I don't blame you for not going. It's fucking awful.”

“You could drop out,” Jaehyun suggests. He really can't believe what he's hearing right now – somebody friends with _Doyoung_ wants to drop out? How ridiculous. That wouldn't go down well with the Doyoung that Jaehyun knows – so snobbish, so stuck up his own arse about everything and nothing at all – 

Stupid Doyoung. Stupid fucking Doyoung.

“So, what's your band called?” Taeyong asks.

“Oh, it's just…” He pauses. “ _DVD Pancake_. Well, no. No, it's not. It's called _Saving Face_.”

Taeyong’s face falls completely. “Oh. And you're…” He looks a bit green suddenly, and the realisation punches Jaehyun in the gut completely. “Ah...Well. Let's…”

“I'll go,” Jaehyun says, quickly. Taeyong is too hot for Jaehyun to be an enemy of. It's...not comfy. He doesn't want to upset Taeyong or make Taeyong feel bad because he's got an awful taste in men and he's stupid and also hot and – “Taeyong, you don't know–”

“Doyoung hates you. I thought – I thought it was _you_ , but – oh, God –” Taeyong clamps his hand over his mouth. “Oh, we should, um, get your friend. He looked like he was about to have sex with Barbara, and, um, well – after the divorce, I think – let's just go, actually.”

Oh, yes. Yuta. 

“She's just telling me about her jam collection!” shouts Yuta, practically getting dragged away by his ear from a woman probably twice his age. “Oh, Jaehyun, who's this?”

Taeyong stares at Yuta oddly. God, it's awkward. This is the most awkward thing that's ever happened. Taeyong is hot and he hates him. Or maybe he doesn't hate him and he's surprised by that? Either way, Jaehyun doesn't like the way that Yuta is looking at Taeyong because God, he's – to put it one way, Jaehyun has known Yuta for less than a week but he wouldn't trust him in a room alone with Taeyong. Not that he's bad at reading signals or creepy, but –

He has a boyfriend. Taeyong _literally_ has a boyfriend, and it's Jaehyun’s worst enemy.

“You're good-looking,” Yuta says, smiling. He isn't looking at Jaehyun, though. Jaehyun pinches Yuta’s ear again.

“We have to go,” Jaehyun says, quickly. He doesn't like the fact that he can hear a group of teenagers playing Musical Chairs in the next room. “Yuta, c'mon. We can leave Lucas behind. He loves this kind of shit.”

“Jaehyun, c'mon,” Yuta says, “can't we –”

“No, we can't,” Jaehyun snaps. He hisses in his ear, “I'll explain later, but we need to go. Bye, Taeyong! Bye, Mark! Happy birthday! Bye, Lucas!” He tries to shout the last few words, but it doesn't really work because his throat really, _really_ hurts. He feels really sick. This is weird. When he was – when Doyoung and he – was this the future that they were destined all along?

**6**

“Okay. No, I've got it,” Yuta says, “but you're still not – who _is_ Doyoung? Can you show me a picture?” 

Jaehyun doesn't want to have to tell this story. Johnny knows, and Taeil sort of knows (in a way, but not _really_ ) but nobody else. Not his parents. He's an only child, so there are no siblings to tell, but if there were, he wouldn't tell them anyway. When _that_ happened, he didn't want to even address it with himself – and Joshua, his rebound/foreign-hook-up, was right. It did fuck him up. It totally fucked him up, and it's all Doyoung's fault.

“The best way to start this story is to try and imagine what it's like to know somebody all your life. A friend, not a cousin or a parent or whatever,” Jaehyun comments. “That's what Doyoung and – that's what we were. Friends. Friends from birth, pretty much. It's weird, thinking back. I hate it. I really do hate it, thinking back.” He toys with his lip. “Yuta, he was my boyfriend. Not until we were thirteen, but we were boyfriends and best friends and, to put it simply, I _loved_ him.”

“Jaehyun – Jaehyun, I'm sorry.”

“But we were in love,” Jaehyun says. “And then he broke up with me and that's that, Yuta. End of story. He stamped on my heart because I wasn't good enough for him and – yes, that's it.” 

“Jaehyun –”

“I said I'd talk about it. That's all I have to say. I talked about it. We hate each other and that's it.”

**7**

That's not it, but it's as close to the full story as Yuta is getting.

Three days. Three days, and everything is falling apart completely. Lucas is high. Yuta is trying to make him happy and help him get over a breakup that he _has_ gotten over, he _has_. It was two years ago.

The thing is, though, looking Doyoung in the eyes has never become easier. They're in the same town – London, though on different sides. Doyoung lives in a pretty, modern apartment and Jaehyun lives in a bedsit above a café, where there's rot in the walls and mice crawling beneath the floorboards. Money is bitch. Everything is a bitch. Jaehyun doesn't care where he lives – he just sits around being miserable anyway, so. It doesn't matter. It's okay.

Oh, and the _song_. The song would be easier if Yuta didn't know who it is about now. It's just – it's just that Jaehyun is so sick of everything right now and he just needs to win. It's not about _Saving Face_. It's about the fact that Doyoung thinks he's a waste of space; he's said it before, and there's no doubt he'll say it again. It's a bit strange, though, because how can Jaehyun say he's gotten over Doyoung when he still cares so much what he thinks?

No, he doesn't. Nobody likes feeling like a failure. The problem nowadays is that Jaehyun doesn't just feel like one – he _is_ one. He can't do this anymore, this endless chasing of dreams and trying to prove fucking Doyoung Kim and his beautiful boyfriend wrong. Wait, is Jaehyun angry because he wants to – no, no, that's not right. It's not about Taeyong. Taeyong only came into the picture recently and Jaehyun fucking hated Doyoung before that.

“Jaehyun, I really do think you need to talk,” Yuta says.

“About what?” Lucas asks.

“About…” Jaehyun plays his chords again. “Let's start from the top, guys. One, two, three…” The song isn't great. It really doesn't sound great. It's bullshit. Nothing is working. Nothing fucking works anymore and Jaehyun is sick to the back teeth of Yuta's weird intervention therapy when they don't even _know_ each other – Taeil has been his friend for five years, and he's never, like, tried to talk about it. Unprovoked, at least. There are times when he offers soft-spoken advice to Jaehyun when it comes up, because –

Everything and everyone is fucked. The world is so easy to hate. Maybe he should have written a song about that. 

“Jaehyun, you're not…” Yuta mumbles, resting a hand on Jaehyun’s shoulder. “Depressed?”

“Yuta, two years. Two. Years. In Spanish, dos años,” Jaehyun snaps. “I'm fucking fine, okay? So can we just fucking make this song already so we can win the fucking completion and prove to fucking Doyoung that _he's_ the failure, not me?”

Yuta bites his lip. “Nobody said anything about being a failure. Do you feel like a failure, Jae?”

“Please,” Jaehyun begs, “what do you not understand about not fucking wanting to talk about it, Yuta? Can't you all just fuck off? I'm fucking sick of being this fucking charity case, y’know? I'm sick and tired! I don't even want to do this fucking competition – not with you, God –” And, in a fit of anger and in complete anger, Jaehyun begins to smash his guitar against the wall. Even while he's doing it, he regrets it. This is his baby. This is Bitch, his favourite crimson red guitar and it's in pieces and nobody's saying anything – nobody _can_ say anything –

And so Jaehyun walks out. He can't do it anymore. He can't do _this_.

**8**

“I just smashed my favourite fucking guitar,” Jaehyun says. “Johnny, I –” He's crying before he realises. Tears are rolling down his face. Mess. He is a total mess. Johnny is a mess, too, but in the way that he hides it from the world behind musical instruments and foreign languages because _nobody_ can know about him. Nobody. His insides feel twisted and broken. 

This isn't about Johnny. This isn't about Jaehyun. This is about Doyoung, about him and his beautiful boyfriend and his beauty and – fuck. Everything is fucked. Is Doyoung beautiful? In his own evil, twisted way? Is this what Jaehyun is trying to tell himself? He hates him but he loves him and everything, everything, is falling apart right at his fingertips. He can't help the sensation of losing all remaining feelings of love. 

“You smashed _Bitch_?” Johnny asks. His hands are trembling as he pours the vodka. It's not even a shot glass. It's a normal glass, and that's the exact point in which Jaehyun realises that everything is – Johnny isn't perfect. Johnny isn't ever going to be perfect.

“I smashed Bitch,” Jaehyun chokes. “I'm sorry.”

“She wasn't my guitar, so. There's no need to say sorry for anything.”

“I'm sorry,” Jaehyun says. There are candles everywhere. Johnny likes candles. If Jaehyun focuses on the simple things, he can ignore the awful lain beginning to grow in his chest. It's killing him. It's killing him and tearing him apart from the inside. He's on fire. He's literally on fire. “My fucking jacket is on fire, Johnny!”

Burnt leather is an arguably disgusting smell. He hates things like these, pain – but outside of body, as well as being inside of the body, everything makes sense. Well, not really. Now is _not_ the time for a breakdown, is it?

This jacket, it's – it's an old jacket, yes, but one that has – Doyoung bought this jacket. His sixteenth birthday – they skipped school, caught the bus down to the seaside and ate fish and chips on the rocks as there wasn't any actual sand and it was a rainy February afternoon. They went to the arcade and played 10p slot machines and ate strawberry laces. It was Valentine's Day, too, and so when he won a teddy bear for Jaehyun, _that_ was the Valentine's gift. Then, feeling bad for not having bought Jaehyun a proper birthday gift, he bought this jacket.

Jaehyun forgot. Usually, he remembers – the romance. It sticks out like a sore thumb, those twisting and turning roller coasters of emotion in his heavy head, and it's like having to forget everything ever all at once because the person you loved no longer loves you and doesn't need you. 

“I don't need you, Jaehyun. You're – you're so sweet, and I – no.” He pauses. “No. I don't need you. You're holding me back, Jaehyun. You're – you just have no ambition. You're willing to go through life doing nothing under the guise that you want to be a musician. But what does that mean, Jae? You're a loser. You're a pathetic loser who just – you won't go to uni, you won't – you're not even that handsome, either.” Even thinking about it now, Jaehyun is holding his breath as Johnny, drunk, pours vodka on his flaming jacket. He's drunk. He's obviously drunk. No sober person would think that pouring a flammable liquid on a flame would fix anything, but Johnny is Johnny. That can't be helped.

The jacket, like Jaehyun expects in the brief seconds before it does, explodes. 

“You're an idiot,” Jaehyun says. “That's my jacket!”

“Fuck, fuck – fuck, this is my – my apartment –”

Jaehyun, the somewhat sober one, decides to pour a bottle of water on the flames. 

“Is this what it feels like?” Johnny asks, afterwards, as they sit on the wet pavement in the rain as the fire brigade douses Johnny's apartment in water. Or whatever they use. Probably water. “To be like you, I mean.”

“Huh? I mean, we're in the exact same position right now. On the street. Soaking wet. In a lot of trouble from your landlord. Partially drunk but sobering up.” He bites his lip, and reaches for Johnny's hand. 

“No, I mean,” Johnny starts, “without...Without anything. And not even Bitch anymore.”

Jaehyun rests his head on Johnny's shoulder. “It's weird. I fucking hate him.”

“Doyoung? Because – because I don't know. You're not a very hating person, if that makes sense,” Johnny whispers. His breath casts white smoke into the night. “Jae, I'm –”

“I'm sorry.”

Johnny sniffs, and runs his fingers through Jaehyun’s hair softly. “Hey...Hey, you don't have to be sorry. Why are you sorry? Don't be.” It's dark. Johnny is so warm. So, so warm. Since he lost his jacket, it's cold. So, so cold. Too cold. His fingers are going numb, so he slides them under the hem of Johnny’s signature bluey-green jumper. “Jae? Why are you sorry?” It's not really an inquisition. He's just...Asking. 

Jaehyun sniffles. He's not crying. Well, he is, but he's slowly pulling his head out from the muddy feeling of sadness and into the crisp air of a busy street at near enough midnight. His phone died an hour ago, he thinks; it stopped vibrating rapidly after that point, at least.

Two years. Two years and he's still not over being told that he was – he was a loser. He was a loser, he really was, and he still is. The competition doesn't mean shit. It's a competition, not a career. He's not touring the world, is he? He hasn’t sold a single record – well, minus his brief stint working in HMV – and he's smashed up his only real important belonging. He bought it before he went to Spain –

You know what, _fuck_ Spain. It was a fucking holiday, not a spiritual journey. Joshua was just an American, not a holy guru. Bitch was his rock, his – it was a guitar. And as though Buddhists say that possessions inherently cause suffering, Bitch wasn't just a possession. She was a friend. Jaehyun dashed out the brains out his friend until the strings pinged out and the body splintered, and now he's sort of crying into Johnny’s arm, wishing he was anywhere else but here.

“Johnny,” Jaehyun sobs. His nose is running and there's a surprising amount of saliva in his mouth right now. Why is his face so liquidy? His eyes are steaming too, and his cheeks are wet like the cold rocks on the edge of a stream. “Johnny, I've been a really shit friend. I'm sorry.”

“No, don't say that. Don't cry,” Johnny mumbles. He crumples up the edge of his blue sleeve and taps at Jaehyun's teary eyes. “Hey, you're not a shit friend. Who said that?”

“I only have two friends, Johnny.”

“Oh, yes. Well,” he mumbles. He rests his head on top of Jaehyun’s as they both blearily gaze at the house across the road. “Don't be sorry. I've been an awful friend too. Jaehyun, I don't care about who you are or whatever you want to be. I was thinking about it, and…” He pauses, and tries to discreetly blow his nose. “I was wrong, and I'm sorry. I should have never tried to discourage you from signing up to the Battle of the Bands, I just – I don't want you to get hurt. You're sort of like a smashed mirror, okay?”

Johnny doesn't really know where he's going with this. “You're a smashed mirror, but the pieces are clearly distinguished. I could pick them all up and rearrange them, though it's hard and I'm partially smashed as it is, because they're still defined fractures of what used to be.” He sighs. “But I'm scared, Jae. If someone steps on the pieces, they're even more scattered. I can't put the puzzle back together. The longer I take, the more people step on the glass. The more people step on the glass, the more fine the pieces become. Eventually, when you're just sand, there's nothing I can do but watch as people hurt you over and over and over again.”

“Johnny,” Jaehyun says. “I'm really cold.”

“I know, Jae.” He runs his arm along his back. “I know you're cold, but we'll be back inside the warm soon, okay?”

**9**

Yuta is really good at giving these sad looks. He just looks – worn out. He probably hasn't slept, like Jaehyun. Lucas is wearing a large mustard scarf and fingerless gloves, so he looks plenty comfy, but Yuta is just – tired. His eyes are red from crying. His fingernails are bitten to the bone. His hair is unwashed and hangs limply across his sharp cheekbones. Jaehyun feels the way he looks.

They sit in silence in the café, Yuta and Lucas sat on one side of the booth seat by the window and Jaehyun on the other. There is a tomato-shaped ketchup squeezy bottle and a mustard one, too. The salt and pepper shaker is shaped like a shark. 

They all order breakfast. Jaehyun really doesn't feel hungry, but as soon as he smells chips, his stomach growls and he realises he hasn’t eaten in almost a day. Sometimes, it really is difficult to remember how to keep yourself alive when his parents aren't holding him accountable.

Lucas starts to eat his food as soon as the plate hits the table, but Yuta doesn't seem too hungry either. 

“You don't have a guitar,” Yuta says first, “so you'd better scratch out any thoughts of winning, ‘cos we can't even compete. Jae, I'm going to be honest – you need a break. I don't know what that break consists of, a stay in a psychiatric ward or a weekend break to Scotland or whatever. You snapped last night, but you might snap again.” He stares down at his chips. “I hate British food.”

“I do, too,” Jaehyun agrees. “I'm really sorry about the band.”

“It's fine,” Yuta says. “I'm worried about you. Isn't that strange? You hardly know me, but I couldn't sleep last night because of how worried I was about you.” He sighs. “It's hard, I think, for people like you. You're so focused on hiding how you feel that it builds up, and so you snap. I'm just – I'm just trying to look out for you, Jae.”

“I know.” 

“So, I won't push you. That was it, wasn't it? Me. I just wouldn't shut up about you-know-who and, well, I pushed it. I pushed you. I took it too far, and I'm sorry. I know that this is partly my fault for being,” Yuta says, stopping to clear his throat, “nosy. But if it's any consolation, it was with the best of intentions. I just feel like you're – jeez, Lucas, how hungry _were_ you?”

His plate is practically licked clean. Jaehyun laughs softly, as does Yuta. “Sorry. Have we made up yet?”

“Yes. Yes, I'll try not to snap,” Jaehyun says. “But I don't have my guitar, and – I don't have any money. I could loan one. Do they do that? I can't just buy a new one. Bitch was expensive, and if I want something even half as good as her, I'd have to be _really_ rich right now. I spent the university money on her. Not all of it, but…” He frowns. “A good proportion. Look, I should just cross our names out before it gets even more embarrassing. It was fun while it lasted, _Saving Face_.” With that, he wraps his tartan scarf around the bottom half of his face and leaves the café after leaving the money for all of their meals on the table. It wasn't much. They can just split the change.

**10**

“Jaehyun, we need to talk,” Johnny says. Well, they _are_ talking, but whatever. He's leaning against his cupboard awkwardly. “I have something really, _really_ important to tell you, but I don't want you to hate me because it's kind of the worst thing I have ever done to you. Also, you shouldn't drink.”

Jaehyun places his beer down on Johnny's bedside table. His sheets are suitably crumpled and grossly stained – Jaehyun is used to not questioning these things, though. If Johnny wants to have sex in the grossest way possible, that's his prerogative. There are so many things piled into his drawers that they're overflowing, which gives Jaehyun somewhat of a headache.

“Why? I'm not doing anything tonight. I don't know if you remember the fact that I've ruined my chances of even _attending_ Battle of the Bands, but –”

“Yeah. About that.” He bites his lip, and moves away from the cupboard. “Look in there.”

Johnny isn't rich. Johnny doesn't have the money to be spending on fancy guitars – especially guitars like Bitch – but here it is, right in front of his very eyes like the day it was born. Or made. Guitars aren't born. The surface is glossier than Jaehyun remembers – is he _that_ dirty? – and there are fewer stickers, but still. It's her. Well, her slightly nicer twin.

Johnny – wait, how is this the worst thing he's ever done? Financially, yes, but how would this make Jaehyun hate him? Before he can wrap his arms around Johnny to embrace him in a hug, Johnny hesitates.

Right. Fuck. Good news is _always_ followed by the bad.

“Okay. Look. Jae,” he says. “I've been a really shitty friend –”

“Johnny, it probably isn't that bad. How did you buy this?”

“Well, um. I didn't –”

“You _stole_ it? Wow. More power to you. Fuck capitalism and all that.”

“No, fuck. My boyfriend bought it. Um, Taeyong. Look, I'm really sorry – I told him about what happened. I know that he's friends with Doyoung and so I didn't say, but – I really love him.”

“Johnny. Seriously. He bought _me_ this? Can I fuck him?”

“No. Obviously not.”

Jaehyun nods. “Yep. Obviously. Can you possibly break the speed limit for me? I have some people that I need to kidnap and deliver.”

“Uh, to where?”

Jaehyun scoffs. “To Battle of the Bands, duh. Don't you want to see your boyfriend and bestfriend battle it out, huh?”

“If this is still about Doyoung –”

“No, no. It's not. I get it now. It's not about him, is it? It's about me! It's about how I love myself, right? Wait, no. That sounds gross. Just come on, okay? It's nearly eight already.”

**11**

Jaehyun knew he'd see Doyoung again beforehand – that was pretty much written into the contract of the competition, actually – but it's still weird, looking him directly in the eyes as walks over to Taeyong. It's easier now. How did Jaehyun ever think they were _dating_? Taeyong is a genuinely nice person – Doyoung is not. There is still, however, a flashing red light in Jaehyun’s head that goes off whenever he walks within about ten metres of Doyoung. It blinds him momentarily, but he's gotten good at shutting out it's crimson glare.

“You’ve no idea how appreciative I am for the guitar,” Jaehyun gushes. Taeyong, who is standing around wordlessly as his band darts around him (along with Doyoung, of course, who is totally helpless and contributing nothing), takes one look at him and smiles brightly. It's still awkward. Yuta, from the side of Jaehyun, still winks at him. Maybe in, like, a parallel universe.

“Oh? Oh, um, no, it's nothing,” Taeyong laughs. Jaehyun kind of figured from his associates, his choice of university and his massive house that he had _money_ money, but it's bad to judge people and therefore such a thought just remained an inkling tucked away in the back of his skull. “Johnny said you've been working so hard, so. It would suck if you couldn't compete, right?”

He's confident about his band, which is honestly fair, but Jaehyun isn't _bad_. Truth is, with a small bit of luck and an effortless performance of chord sequences and singing, they could – theoretically speaking – win. Yuta seems sure, but he's not restrained by the burning ropes of crippling anxiety and desire to prove himself like Jaehyun is.

Jaehyun meets Doyoung’s eyes. He's still wearing a blue jumper, but one that stands out more clearly in Jaehyun’s mind – the sleeves of which he wiped his tears away when he told Jaehyun that he was, essentially enough, comparable to baggage and that his life would be a million times easier with him gone. The day in which Jaehyun was no longer needed. Still, though, it never made sense to Jaehyun why somebody so heartless as Doyoung would cry – it certainly wasn't over Jaehyun. According to Doyoung's own words, Jaehyun “wasn't worth a second more of his time”.

“Jaehyun. I didn't expect you to _actually_ show up,” Doyoung says. It's like a punch to the gut, like Doyoung is smashing his head through a window then blaming the slashes on his face on how easy his skin was to cut. “You're still late, of course, but –”

“I don't have time,” Jaehyun snaps. He really doesn't. They're performing in fifteen, and Jaehyun can get pretty heated in an argument when in the moment. He follows after Lucas, having to return to Yuta for a second to prise him off of Ten, and within about ten minutes, they're about ready to perform. Being the first performers, you can totally fuck everything up, right? Jaehyun is scared of that happening, so he tries to focus on perfecting the details of his voice and ironing out any mispronunciations.

There's no way, however, that Doyoung doesn't know this about him. Jaehyun makes sure of this by staring at him directly throughout the entire three minutes or so they're on stage. When they finish, people clap enthusiastically, which fuels Yuta's ego to no extent – he already _thinks_ he's amazing, and compliments only go to throw fuel on the fire. 

“We were Saving Face!” Jaehyun shouts. 

Yuta smiles. “Hey, if anybody's interested, my number is –”

The rest of the night is a little hazy. Jaehyun drinks, which he _usually_ isn't a fan of, and that sort of gives everything and everyone a blurry halo – it's cute, kinda, until he stumbles into Doyoung again. Jesus. They're like magnets – mentally they repel, but physically they attract each other. It doesn't make any sense. Is God divinely intervening so that they can make up? There's nothing that Jaehyun has to apologise for – well, the song a _little_ , but Doyoung’s a grown-up, he can handle it.

Doyoung gives him a sad look. It's not angry, surprisingly, but sad. Confused. Lost. He never liked pubs. They would sit in the corner of the place and wrap their fingers together, wallowing in each other's company as everyone drank themselves to death around them. No, this is –

“Jaehyun, can we talk?” Doyoung asks.

Right. He's _definitely_ drunk. Doyoung Kim doesn't talk – he may not be British, but he is as repressed as they all are. He doesn't want to sacrifice anything that could later be used against him – it was the same back then, and Jaehyun assumes it's the same now.

Or – maybe not? Jaehyun blindly follows Doyoung outside into the cold street. There are a few others hanging around, nobody that Jaehyun recognises, and although Doyoung was the one to initiate this is in the first place, why is he not _saying_ anything?

Then, without pausing for breath, he says, “I bought you the guitar. Not Taeyong. I thought it would be easy, watching him take the claim of it, and that's what I told him to do. For all intents and purposes, it was him – but I bought it. I just – I know that you're –”

Jaehyun holds his breath. “ _You_ have no reason to do that for me. I'm not a charity case.”

“So you’ll happily accept it from anybody _but_ me?”

“Essentially. You can have it back. I don't want it anymore,” Jaehyun spits. “Why? Is this just a way to make me feel even more shit? Like even the person I _hate_ has to take care of me because I'm that incompetent?”

“Jae, please,” Doyoung says.

“No. You made up your fucking decision, didn't you? I don't want to play this game, Doyoung. It's not fair. I'm not going to feel sorry for you because you did one nice thing for me,” Jaehyun shouts. “You made up your mind two years ago, Doyoung! Don't try and pretend that I'm anything more than a waste of space for you! Why are you talking to me? Isn't that just wasting seconds of your precious life that's so much better without me, Doyoung?”

“I had to do what I did. It was the only way, Jae,” Doyoung shouts back. “You never want to listen to anything I have to say!”

“Right. Go on, tell me. Why did you have to be such a heartless bastard? Why did you have to make me feel worthless? Why did you have to stomp on my self-esteem and then spit on it? Why did you throw away _years_ of love and then –”

“Jae, I _had_ to break your heart. It was the only way!”

“No! No, couldn't you have just pretended that we were still friends? You didn't have to just stab me with your words and say that you had no other option when you _clearly_ did!”

“We're different people, and my parents –”

“You're pathetic. Don't blame your issues on them, Doyoung!”

“My parents _made_ me break up with you, Jae! And it was so much easier if you hated me, because then you wouldn't be sad, you'd be angry. So if you want to punch me, you can, but I did this for _you_. Are you telling me that it wouldn't have torn you apart? It tore me apart, for that fucking matter! I needed you to hate me! I needed you to not feel sad, so I did what I thought was best for the two of us. But I've ruined it for myself, haven't I? I loved you, Jaehyun, and I still do!”

Jaehyun remains in stunned silence. His parents never really did like him, but God. Fuck. No, he can't – Doyoung hurt him – Doyoung _loves_ him –

“Say something, _please_ ,” whispers Doyoung.

Jaehyun feels sick. “Doyoung, this isn't funny.” But Jaehyun knows he's not joking, but it's easier to swallow, thinking that this is a sick joke. Doyoung was never good at acting. 

“Jae, I'm sorry. You don't even have to forgive me, but I am _sorry_ ,” Doyoung gushes. There are fears steaming down his cheeks. “God. You were really good tonight, y'know. I liked the song.”

“Oh. Oh, about the lyrics –”

“It's fine. I deserve it. Jae, I know it's horrible, but can you just –” 

Jaehyun leans in to kiss him, laying his finger across the ugly blue jumper as they do so, feeling Doyoung’s icy cold skin against his warm face. They both remain there, trapped in the moment that feels like it was plucked from five years ago, but it's _now_. Jaehyun can feel Doyoung against him, and he doesn't feel angry – he feels complete. Like Doyoung, with a few words and a simple touch, has collected up the shards of his broken mirror and carefully put them all back together to form a reflection of the two of them, smiling through the cracks.

They walk back into the pub, where the group has congregated into one section, Jaehyun’s friends and Doyoung’s friends meshing together, and join them for the results of the Battle of the Bands.

“And the winners are…”

There's a lazy drum roll to follow, but Jaehyun can't raise his hands from where they are wrapped around Doyoung. Where he belongs. Where they both belong.

“... _The Dead Legs_!”

Jaehyun can't even bring himself to care, of course. He wouldn't have wanted to win anyway – the song was a lie, after all, and – and – he _loves_ Doyoung, he always did. He never hated him, it was just – dark, heavy love that he couldn't carry in his light heart. Love that he felt he didn’t deserve, but now he does. Love that was killing him, but is now bringing him back to life.

**Author's Note:**

> my twitter is @taeminsgoblin i never shut up about taemin and yangyang


End file.
